


Prophecies

by Trojie



Series: Trojie's Pornathon Entries 2011 [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Community: summerpornathon, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin needs to know what the future holds, and he has no gift for prophecy of his own and no desire to go back to the crystal cave. This leaves him with one option - but it's one with a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prophecies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer Pornathon's Challenge 2 - Kink Grab-Bag. Of the list of kinks, I picked dub-con because I figured if I picked crossdressing then anoning would be kinda pointless.

'He will never touch you like this, you know that. He has a wife.'

Merlin bears down, opens like a flower, like selfish Narcissus, and takes Mordred into himself in exchange for these words. For Mordred sees - into the present, into the future - and this is easier than the crystal cave for Merlin. Easier to give his body than his mind. The insults he can bear, physical and verbal, because Mordred will tell him in whispers what time will hold for Arthur, gives him warnings so that he may keep Arthur safe.

(And shameful, deep-buried dark and down below, Merlin wants this; skin to his skin, to be taken, to be filled, to be wanted by someone.)

Mordred is gentle to him these days. At first he was fast and excited and vicious in his want, before he learned that Merlin would not run, would keep coming back. Now he is considerate, although sometimes Merlin longs for the cut of nails along his hips. It's only what he deserves, and sharpness drives him hard, gasps his breath out for him before he can think - makes him all _reaction_. The crystal cave would make him think. Merlin no longer wants to.

Mordred pulls free, the dripping head of him dragging against the tight wet curl of Merlin's body, and then pushes back in like a knife to the throat, a lance to a boil, the heat of him cauterising some of the canker in Merlin's heart. Sometimes it doesn't matter who, and if it doesn't matter who, there's no treason in wanting this. Merlin moans, and Mordred chuckles in his ear, licking the edge of it to feel Merlin shudder. But he has given Merlin nothing yet, nothing that he wants (no, needs - Merlin _needs_ the prophecies. He does not need _this_. He only wants it.)

'Tell me.' Head down and knees spread, Merlin pleads.

'You should stop pretending that you come only for information,' Mordred growls, the leverage, the angles all his as he takes what he desires. 'The time is coming for you to take what you truly want, Emrys. Admit it; you know you should never be denied the things you want.' He shoves in hard, stays there inside Merlin like every dark urge a warlock ever felt.

'I want Arthur as my king. I want Arthur to unite Albion,' Merlin says, writhing on Mordred's cock.

'And you will have those things, for now.' Mordred's hands tighten, fingernails _bite_ into Merlin's skin, and Merlin whines and grinds and _hates_ how much he loves it as Mordred comes hard within him. 'But when I make my move,' Mordred gasps, 'You _will_ choose me over him.'

'Never,' Merlin gasps, too proud to touch himself even though his cock is straining for it.

'I'll kill him,' Mordred says, and drags himself out of Merlin's body too fast, leaving Merlin empty and needing, but not for long. Mordred pushes him to his back, breathes over him - 'There's your future, Emrys, there's your next prophecy. I'll kill him, and you'll be at my side -' and swallows him down.

Merlin's fists clench, at his sides, then in Mordred's hair, yanking the boy down till he chokes, to take his finish from him, but in the sun-hot burn of orgasm, anger flashes harder than the lust, and Mordred chokes on the flood of Merlin's release. Merlin shoves him off, panting. 'I won't let you,' he breathes, trying to calm, trying to ungrapple himself from the magic that wants so badly, in this moment, to cast Mordred from him dead and harmless and done with. 'I won't _ever_ choose you over him.'

'You choose this,' Mordred coughs, wiping his red, red mouth. 'You let me have you for scraps, Merlin. You sell yourself so cheap. Arthur will never give you what I can. He will never touch you the way you want.'

The old truth cuts hard. Merlin crushes the magic in his palm to harmlessness, dashing temptation to pieces. 'There is more to life than what I want,' he whispers, and turns on his heel.

Behind him, Mordred says, 'I will be here when you come back to take what you _need_.'


End file.
